EleMental
by Kerttu
Summary: Dreams can save one's life. Sands POV. Postmovie. Second of the Mentality series


Title: El-e-Mental

Author: Kerttu

Pairing: Sands/El

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: As if anyone could own these guys!

Summary: Post-movie

AN: Not beta'ed, so all mistakes thus are mine. Bows to Maureen for infesting my mind with El and Sands doing everything humanly possible (and impossible) to each other, and to Miami Rhapsody for the sexiest male nurse.

When he dreamed the next time it was an unusual dream.

He felt movement and heard a car engine. He shifted and realised that he was not tied to anything although his hands were still bound. There was also a blanket over him.

This was the most realistic dream yet, although the fact that he could not see was not nice touch at all.

He pushed the blanket aside and struggled to sit up. He managed but felt appalled how big an effort it was.

"You are awake."

And he was hard like a good Pavlovian dog.

"El, my man!"

"You recognise me. That's good."

"Why should I not know you?" Sands leaned forward cautiously and touched the coarse surface of the car seat covering. So this was a rescue dream… He had not had those yet.

"The… _medicamentos_ were strong." El's voice was unsure and concerned and Sands smiled, pleased. This was the nice El who was gentle at first and then gave it to him so that he could not walk for a week – if they had allowed him to take walks, that is.

"Yeah, they have some real cool arse kicking drugs. So now what?" Sands pushed himself backwards and fell to the heap of the same blanket he had crawled out from.

"Your choice."

"How about you blow me and then you can ream my arse to seven ways to Sunday?"

A sudden movement from the first seat and Sands could feel El staring at him. "What?"

"You heard me." To get his point across, Sands put on his most lascivious smile.

"You ARE crazy."

"I suppose so. Otherwise I do not know why they locked me up. Of course, the nurse I killed might have something to do with it."

He heard El turning back to watch the road and sigh:

"You did not killed her."

Sands frowned. "Damn, I so hoped that there was a good reason why-"

"She could not work for two weeks. She could have lost her job."

"Hmm." Sands did not like Els who preached him about right and wrong. He had eradicated those from his dreams. Or so he had thought. "Whatever. What about that sex part?"

"I do not think so."

If Sands could have blinked, he would have.

El had never, NEVER said 'no' to him.

Then again, he had not been blind in his dreams…

Which meant that this was no dream at all… "Fuck."

"No."

"Shut up!" Sands sat up again and pushed his leather-bound hands over the back of the front seat. "Untie me!"

"No. I am not that stupid."

"Fuck-fuck. Fuck!" Sands put his forehead against the back of the seat and took a calming breath. He had a painful hard-on and he had not dealt with real life… Wait, for how long? "Can you tell me something?"

"Depends."

"Fuck you! How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long was I in the bloody hospital!"

"Four days before they separated you from the others. Then about three weeks."

"Shit." Sands calculated quickly. "It's … the 28th then."

"29th."

"Close enough." He realised that CIA probably already knew where he was, had known at least for a week if the information moved as quickly as it used to and they had done nothing. An agent, apparently gone rogue and locked up in an asylum, was not their business. Perhaps they would have waited couple months to make sure that the drugs had done their irreversible damage and then whisked him back to spend the rest of life in an another - this time properly ventilated - small padded room, oblivious of his surroundings.

Sands suddenly felt violently nauseous but he clamped his jaws and waited until the feeling subsided somewhat. "Why did you come?"

"Banito asked me. And I felt guilty."

"Oh, why would you feel guilty about me? And who the fuck is Banito?"

"I saw you on the plaza in front of the Presidential palace… You weren't moving and your face… I thought you were dead. When Banito called me-"

"And I repeat: who the-"

"Banito is the… _apodo_. Esteban is the boy who was with you and ran after Ramirez." El sounded pretty annoyed.

"Ahh, the chiclet-kid…" The car took a sudden curve and Sands felt the nausea stir but he pushed it down again. So now he had acquired a car-sickness. Great.

"Yes." A bite in the word. El was not too keen of his bored drawl then. Figures.

"Why would they call you?"

An almost pained sigh. This man really did not want to talk much, did he? "When you got 'dangerous' they could not visit you. Banito was very worried. As much as I understand it was him who finally remembered the phone and convinced Ramirez to call me."

"So you came back because you have the hero guilt complex of the size of an Empire State Building…" gritted Sands through clenched teeth. He already tasted bile on the back of his throat.

"I can turn around and drive you back." El commented now, somehow calm again, and the car slowed down.

"No!" Sands shot upright, a cold sweat bursting all over and he was not sure was it from the fear of being locked away or from the concentration to hold his gagging reflexes under control. After all, control is everything… Then he lost his balance and fell sidewise, groaning.

"Sands?" And the man is the concern embodied again… Ha, the irony!

"Pull over."

"I do not think-"

Swallowing painfully against the fowl tide cresting in his throat: "Pull over or I will vomit all over the bloody car."

He was now sitting on the front seat, huddled in the blanket and a water bottle in his hands that were still bound. He had to give El some credit – he was not as trusting as he appeared at first.

He was also shivering – the nights of Mexico could be rather chilly and this was one of them. He had stumbled out of the car and retched and only then realised that he was wearing nothing but the hospital gown. Must have flashed everything to El in the full glory… At least the cold had killed his boner.

"Does this car have a heating that works?"

"Hm," El fiddled with something and a new rattle began but some warm air was also coming in.

"Thank the fucking Lord."

"Do not say that."

"What? Fucking or Lord?"

"Both."

Sands shivered but grinned nevertheless. "So tell, me, The, how did you manage to get me out from a mental ward?"

"I worked in the hospital for two weeks."

"As what? Dr Kevorkian? Did they need some of the terminally ill to be put out of their misery?"

"What do you mean?" El was honestly surprised.

"Nothing…" Sands took a small sip and enjoyed how the water eased the burning throat. "How then?"

"I was a… _enfermero_."

Sands threw his head back and laughed. "You… a… male… nurse!!" He took a breath and grinned: "I am really sorry to be blind. I would have wanted to see that!"

He chuckled once more, thoroughly amused. El as a nurse. A gun-doting goody-shoes, indeed.

"I am sorry."

That threw him.

"Of what?"

"That you are blind."

Four little words and he wanted to sob his pathetic soul out, kill the man holding the steering wheel and threw himself under the same car. Not necessarily in that particular order, really. But he was exhausted and shivering and a plastic bottle was not the best killing tool. "So am I." He was not sure whether he said or just thought it. It did not really matter, did it?

They drove on in silence for a while. Then to Sands' eternal surprise, El was the one to ask something.

"I was caring for you for three days before I managed to get the keys. You were dreaming a lot."

"Yeah."

"Why were you dreaming about me?"

"Gee, perhaps all the other mother fuckers I had seen in this country just did not DO it for me?" Sands didn't bother of denying anything – he must have moaned loudly and clearly enough for El ask such a question. And he knew that he had been a tad talkative in his recent dreams. Imagining the Mexican talking to him with his sex-in-liquid-form voice necessitated also him being vocal – El was not the best of conversationalists.

He was proving that now, silent after Sands' comment. "So, how does it feels to be a sex-toy for a warped mind?"

El shifted on his seat but kept his silence. Sands grinned, trying to imagine the grimace of disgust on El's face, and slumped as comfortably as he could back at his seat. "I did try others, do not be TOO flattered."

"Not during those three days."

"Must have upped my dosage again. Too much drugs in one's system can make a person dull." He played with the cap of the bottle, twisting it open and shut.

"How are you feeling?"

"Eyeless." Sands could so see in his mind's eye how El rolled his eyes.

"I meant…"

Sands twisted the cap shut and snapped: "I have no idea what they were giving me, so no, I do not know how I will be feeling soon." He shrugged, again seemingly bored: "Perhaps I will get a psychotic episode and kill everybody and trash everything in my vicinity. Perhaps I will go into severe withdrawal and die of dehydration when I cannot drink anything. Perhaps I will just cut the crap and kill myself."

"Do you want to die?" The disapproving frown was plain to hear.

"I … I do not know. Is there any point of going on?" He heard El opening his mouth and he intercepted: "No, don't answer that. Catholic rules do not apply to me." He rested his head against the back of the seat. "Or if they did, I am damned anyway, for being-" he dropped the bottle in his lap and began ticking off the reasons on his fingers – "a killer, a lair, a thief, a proud idiot, a sinner in almost every possible way, and, do not forget, the devil's advocate."

"You forgot homosexuality." Sands could have sworn that El was smirking but considered that unlikely.

"No, that is the part of being a sinner." He found the bottle again and took another sip. Oh, heaven's nectar in its coolness. "Though I am not exactly that. I have bedded both sexes, easily and with pleasure." He added after swallowing the water.

"In reality or in your dreams?"

"In reality. Want a test drive?"

A snort was his whole answer. Sands shrugged and curled up as much as he could. He was still very-very tired. "You do not know what you are missing, peaches."

"Loco."

"Never disagreed on that." He pulled the blanket closer around and relaxed. "How long is this drive going to take?"

"Two, two and half hours."

"Then if you do not want to keep up this lively conversation I will sleep."

When he woke up, he felt disorientated. He was on a bed, in a room and it did not smell like a hospital. He rolled lightly over onto his stomach and his shoulder brushed a warm body.

Which tensed.

And he remembered. He was not in the hospital anymore. El had pulled a semi-Scully and now he was free but still blind. And his hands bound.

"Are you awake?" El's voice was soft enough not have woken him had he been really sleeping. But the physical reaction to it was the same as before. Fortuna was a whore with no sense of modesty.

He pushed himself to sit on knees, hands in his laps to cover the stupid part of his anatomy that still waited for sex, and cocked his head to side. "No, I just thought I would go into a moonlight stroll. If there is moon, of course."

"It is almost dawn."

"Sorry, not privy to that information anymore." He heard El sitting up, the bed creaked, the mattress dipped and he felt the man's body heat near his right side.

"How are-"

"Would you just can it?!" It came out more hysterical than he wanted but his sedation had probably worn off a long time ago. So he was going into a withdrawal… Niiice. Would he also become physically jittery? What a magnificent way to become humiliated.

"You should have a bath."

"Oh, am I that rank?" The words were out of his mouth before he understood that. What had they given him, sodium pentathol?

"What?"

"Do I smell bad?" He did not hide the fact that he was angry.

"No, but it would relax you."

"How do you know? What do you know about me?" He turned sharply and pushed El with all of his strength. Oh, he felt vindicated when the man yelped and fell off the bed. But his gab did not shut up. "What actually gives you the right to give me any suggestions or orders or anything?" He had to take a breath. "That you got me out?"

"Yes." El's voice was very close and before he could react, the man had a good hold of him. He had not heard him move. It spiked a terror in him, low and primal.

"You arrogant bastard! Let go!"

"No. Not until- Ow!! Stop kicking me." El dragged him down and held him tightly against his chest until Sands tired of squirming.

"Why did you have to drag me out?" The American did not bother to cover his exhaustion.

El sighed and adjusted his hold on him but the man obviously knew better than to release him yet. "Did you really like being there?"

Sands was silent and still for a while. He had been a captive, yes, but he had found a freedom as well. A freedom of mind wherein he had been… even happy. Happy with this man whose arms felt so familiar around him now but whom he could not possibly trust or rely on. "What if I was happier there?"

"Were you?" Now the poor dim wit of a guitar lover was confused.

"No and… yes."

"Why?" Confusion had made the question soft again. Soft and deadly. And making him spill his guts to a person who…

Sands did not know any more what he thought of El.

In his dreams El had been just there, a convenient lover giving him mind-blowing orgasms but now… The man was real and he could not even see him.

He could not see.

And something snapped again.

"I could see in my dreams!!! And I didn't have to wake up, you cunt-sucking bastard!!"

He almost made it off the bed before El managed to wrestle him down again. "Hush!"

"Go the fuck away!" Sands struggled and kicked but in the end he was caught into an embrace again and damn it to hell and back, he was still embarrassingly hard. Since El was physically pressing him down, he must have felt it, too. Was the Luck a fucking bitch or not?

"Are you calm now?" El's voice was quiet and maddening in its sexiness. Sands felt himself tightening and hated himself for it. And he hated El as well.

"Not even seeing it in horizon!" he spat back because empty frustration was all that was left. El sighed and shifted on top of him and then went very still. So now he had become aware of the hard flesh between them.

"Should I…" A hesitant comment that made Sands shake with suppressed laughter.

"Ha! Sure! As if you cared!" Sands turned his head aside and drew a breath. "Just release my hands and I'll-"

El shook his head, Sands sensed it more than felt: "No, you are still affected by-"

An angry growl and Sands hissed like a cat: "Jesus, El, do you think that those drugs made me crazy? I was nuts before!"

"I know that. I suppose that is the reason I love you."

The smugness in El's voice made Sands to face him. "What?"

"You heard me." One of the mariachi's hands slipped under his hospital gown that had ridden up and was not covering much at all. The touch was knowing and light and absolutely unlike anything that had happened in his fantasies.

"You cannot… Oh god… love mee-ehe…"

"I can and I will."

And the Hell must have frozen over because Agent Sands could not string together words to make a coherent sentence. That had never-ever happened. Then, with an enormous effort he managed: "Why… not… before… then?"

"Somebody had to drive the car."


End file.
